


A Series of Argent-unate Events

by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)



Series: Empathy, Empathy, Put Yourself in the Place of Me [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Neglect, Child Stiles, Empath Stiles Stilinski, Here we go, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapped Stiles, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Tag, There's a lot of crying, Vomiting, alright, because Kate Argent, but they definitely deserve it, it gets rough you guys, the sheriff fucks up, the sheriff fucks up Real Bad, the vomiting is a single incident 6400 words in if you would like to gloss over it btw, this is the last in the series that gets the
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-27 00:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14413908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyofthekids/pseuds/twothumbsandnostakeincanon
Summary: “She’s what??” Stiles practically yelled at his dad, turning to face him in the car.John was no less upset than Stiles, although he was less surprised.“Kate’s appeal to overturn the conviction of conspiracy to commit murder was successful. She’s being released next week,” John repeated.





	A Series of Argent-unate Events

**Author's Note:**

> lol this is it. This is where 90% of you unsubscribe and the only response I get is a single comment with a thumbs down emoji. I won't even blame you, you guys. It gets fucking rough in here.

“She’s _what??_ ” Stiles practically yelled at his dad, turning to face him in the car.

John was no less upset than Stiles, although he was less surprised.

"Kate’s appeal to overturn the conviction of conspiracy to commit murder was successful. She’s being released next week,” John repeated.

Stiles’ mouth gaped as he floundered for words. “But she still has the guilty verdict for statutory rape! She got three years for that!”

“With time served before her sentencing, she’s been in for over a year. The prison is trying to reduce overcrowding, and she was up for parole- she had a record of good behavior.”

“Yeah, and she’s a pretty white lady with family money,” Stiles said bitterly, turning to face the window.

John gripped the steering wheel harder. His son wasn’t wrong.

When they reached the Hales Stiles stomped up the steps and went in, heading directly for Talia’s office, where Peter was. John followed at the same, if quieter pace.

He entered the office, and Stiles was already slouching on the wall next to Peter. Joseph stood there too, a comforting hand on his shoulder. A few of the tension lines around his son’s eyes, so out of place on an 8th grader, had disappeared.

John looked at Joseph’s hand, and the tension that had dropped from his son landed on his own shoulders.

“John,” Talia greeted him with a grim look. “I just got a call from the county prosecutor. Next Tuesday?”

John nodded, confirming the release date. “I-” he glanced at the hand on Stiles’ shoulder again. “If there’s anything I can do from within my department, just let me know. But- and I know you have permission from the Hunter Council or whatever it’s called- but those rules don’t apply to law enforcement. You can still call on me if you need to, but it’s probably better if I don’t know what you have planned.”

Talia nodded. “I understand.”

“I also expect you to keep Stiles out of this as much as possible,” John said firmly. Stiles’ head snapped up, and Talia looked taken aback.

“Of course, John. We’d never involve the children in something like this,” Talia assured him.

“I know, I know, but I also know Stiles, and- don’t give me that look,” he directed at his son, “you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He looked back at Talia. “If he’s worried about your family, he _will_ find a way to get information, and if he thinks he can help, he _will_ find a way to make himself involved.”

Talia’s face was expressionless. “What do you suggest?”

He paused. He braced himself, and thanked god for Peter’s presence, because otherwise Stiles would already be throwing a fit.

“I think Stiles should spend less time here until Kate’s taken care of.”

“WHAT?” Stiles exploded.

“Just until this is over, Stiles. I know you practically live here, but it won’t hurt you to stay at home for a week until this is all over.”

Stiles bit his tongue to stop himself from yelling _this IS my home_.

“Innocent until proven guilty,” he pinched out. “You don’t know that I’m going to do anything! It’s not like I could sneak past a houseful of werewolves anyway, and they can tell if I’m lying.”

“Your genius when it comes to delinquency knows no bounds,” said John with a strained smile, as if he was trying to make it sound lighthearted.

Stiles felt the comment like a punch to his gut, and every werewolf in the room stiffened at the smell of his distress.

“Okay, you don’t trust me, whatever,” Stiles said, trying to sound staunch past the slight quaver in his voice. “But you should trust the Hales.”

“It’s not about trust-“

His father was hiding something.

“Why do you really want me away from the Hales?” Stiles asked quietly.

“I just think-”

 _“Why_ , Dad!”

John burst. “Those people are _hunters,_ Stiles!”

Joseph sucked in a breath, but everyone else was silent.

“Your mother wasn’t born as Claudia. She went through at least four names before she was able to keep that one.” John was pacing now. “When she turned eighteen, some hunters found out what she was, what she could do. They chased her through five states. She lost contact with every friend, every relative- she never told me how many times they almost caught her, but I know it was at least twice.”

John stopped pacing and stepped closer to Stiles, a panicked glint in his eye. “Son, you have to understand, she wasn’t afraid of being killed, she was afraid of _being caught_. Her empathy was different from yours, she could see…” John seemed to lose his thread as he got lost in some memory.

“They didn’t want her dead,” he said distantly. “They wanted to use her.”

His eyes focused again. “If anyone is involved with hunters, then I don’t want you involved with them.” He said it firmly, but with an apologetic look in his eye as he glanced at Talia. “It’s not forever, just until this… this is taken care of.”

“With all due respect,” and it could not be more clear just how little respect Peter thought was due, “Stiles _is_ supernatural, and therefore _always_ a target of codeless hunters like Kate. He’ll be in danger regardless. Wouldn’t it be better to have him in a house with a dozen people to protect him, rather than in a house alone? Unless you plan on taking the entire week off to guard Stiles,” he tacked on the last sentence skeptically.

John straightened up and looked Peter in the eye. “I have a duty to the community-”

“You have a duty to YOUR SON,” Peter snarled, claws lengthening. Joseph and Talia were between the two in a moment, Talia ushering John back while Joseph put a restraining hand on Peter.

 _“Of course_ I have a duty to my son, I’m doing the best I can to get him out of the crosshairs of maniacs like the one you let into your family-” John yelled, and Stiles’ stomach dropped down to his feet.

“Enough.” Talia’s voice was cold and absolute.

John looked at her, and then at the floor, ashamed.

“I apologize,” he bit out. “That was out of line-”

“It was,” she agreed in the same icy tone. “I understand that you’re trying to protect your son, but please try to see that we’re trying to protect him as well. Pack is family, John. A pack is only worth the care and protection it provides to its members.”

John was shaking his head before she was even done talking. “No. If Claudia didn’t think a pack was enough to keep her safe from hunters, then that’s what I’m going to trust.” He swallowed. “Peter’s right,” he forced out. “I’ll take the week off and keep Stiles home from school with me, but I don’t want him coming here until Argent is… gone.”

Talia pinched her lips together. “Can we at least send a few pack members to guard your home until this is over?”

John paused. “Peter can come if Stiles needs him, otherwise… I’d prefer the pack to stay away,” he said, tone definite.

Joseph and Talia continued to try to negotiate with John. Peter stood by the wall with Stiles, a hand on the back of his neck, bringing him in close for comfort. It took a lot for Stiles to be able to feel Peter’s emotions, quiet as they were; right now Stiles could sense his fury as clearly as anyone else in the room.

“- I said no, and I meant it Talia. This isn’t a council meeting. He’s _my_ son, and it’s my responsibility to decide what’s best for him. Give us a call as soon as it’s taken care of.” John, evidently done with the conversation, jerked his head in the direction of the door. “Stiles.”

Peter’s hand tightened on Stiles for a brief moment before letting go and backing up a step. He craned his neck down to look Stiles in the eye. “Call me the second you feel overwhelmed, alright? We’re past all that waiting-til-the-last-minute bullshit.”

Stiles nodded, not saying a word, and left with his dad.

The moment they all heard the front door close, there was a flurry of sound and motion in the office. Peter’s claws were out and his eyes were flashing as he stalked around the room.

“‘ _Responsibility’,_ ” Talia scoffed derisively. “The only responsibility he sees is the one to his dead wife. If he’d take an hour to read literally anything in the library on packs-”

Joseph shook his head. “Everything he learns about the supernatural is filtered through how he perceives Claudia would have thought of it, I’m not sure even books would help-” The door to the office opened again, cutting him off.

“What was shoved up the sheriff’s butt to make his face look like that on his way out?” Savage Grandma walked into the office, looking curious. “Couldn’t have been anything fun judging by his expression.”

Peter responded in a voice more growl than not. “Kate Argent’s being released from prison early. Next Tuesday. John has decided to remove Stiles from the protection of the pack until she’s gone from the territory.”

Savage Grandma’s expression was razor edged. “He’s taken away a child, a pack child- one of _our pack’s_ children- from the safety of the Alpha’s home when the danger of rogue hunters has increased?”

Talia nodded.

“Well, when are we going to go kidnap him?”

Peter, Joseph, and Talia all responded at once, talking over each other.

“Two in the morning-”

“We’re not going to-”

“We’ll need one for a lookout-”

Joseph’s mouth snapped shut as he looked between his wife and brother in law. “We’re _not_ kidnapping Stiles!” he said firmly.

Peter looked defiant and Talia frowned, as if she knew her husband had a point but she didn’t want to admit it. A moment later she sighed grudgingly.

“We’re not kidnapping Stiles,” she said regretfully. She looked up at her mom. “John has declined pack protection inside his house, but we’ll set someone outside until Kate’s dead. He’s trained to notice surveillance, so we’ll have to be careful. Peter’s allowed in the house as Stiles needs for his empathy, though. Which, after today… you have your phone on, right Peter?”

Peter nodded sharply, still flicking his claws in and out, as if itching to dig them in to someone.

“Have you heard anything new about Gerard’s movements?” she continued to question him.

“Gerard?” Grandma questioned sharply.

“No, not since Christopher arrived in France to find him gone two days ago,” Peter answered both of them. “I’m sure Gerard’s on his way here, gathering whatever help he can.”

“Are we maybe being a little presumptuous? Why would either of the Argents target Stiles? We kept him well away from the court case,” Joseph reasoned.

Grandma pursed her lips. “If it were just Kate, I wouldn’t be so worried. But Gerard has always been a cunning bastard- after all, he kept off the Council’s radar up until last year. He does his homework.” She started pacing opposite Peter. “Give him twenty four hours in town and he’ll know everything our family’s been up to in the last decade, much less that a child with a dead mother who had a suspicious past started hanging around us right before Kate got caught.”

Everyone was quiet at that.

“Let me call Phillip and get his work schedule,” Talia said finally. “Once I have that I can set up a rotation starting tomorrow.” She nervously tapped her fingers against the desk. “Mom, Peter- could you set up a plan to get Stiles out of his house if the situation becomes dire?” Joseph began to argue, but she cut him off. _“Only_ if it becomes necessary. It’s no different than having an escape plan for the kids in the house, Joseph.”

As Talia, Peter, and Grandma got to work, Joseph went into the kitchen and began gathering ingredients for cookies absentmindedly. He wanted Stiles safe in their home just as much as the others, but what good would it do if they got arrested immediately afterwards? John was still the sheriff, after all.

He shook his head and began mixing. He would bring over cookies; maybe it would soften John up to change his mind.

* * *

The car was silent the whole way home. It wasn’t until they were in their living room that the dam broke.

“Why didn’t you tell me about mom?!” Stiles yelled.

John ran a hand through his hair. “You weren’t old enough, I didn’t want to give you more to worry about-”

“You should have told me!!”

“It was just too much for a kid to handle, Stiles-“

“Too much? Is it really more to handle than having an alcoholic dad??”

John was stunned. “I don’t-”

“The same people who hunted mom want to hunt _me_ , and you didn’t think I should know that?”

“It’s _my_ job to keep you safe!”

“And what a hell of a job you’re doing!” Stiles exploded. “Spending all your time at work because you won’t go to therapy to find a way to deal with your guilt and grief so I can be around you without hurting! You go to work, and you leave me here, when I didn’t even know that there are people out there who would take me and use me like a fucking WEAPON.”

“STOP. BE QUIET,” John roared back.

Stiles was trembling. He stormed over to the liquor cabinet and took out all the bottles. Then he marched over to the couch and pulled out the two bottles hidden behind it, and then another that was tucked into an end table.

“There,” he spat. “There’s your quiet. I’m calling Peter to get mine.”

He went up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door.

John sank down in front of the bottles in silent shock.

What had just happened?

* * *

Stiles heard his window slide open from the outside, but didn’t bother looking over. The bed dipped as Peter took a seat next to him. Stiles breathed a sigh of relief when his father’s confusion, grief, and anger faded away 

Peter brought a hand up to his head, rubbing a palm over the buzzcut, trying for a moment of levity. Stiles batted his hand away, huffing with a twitch of his lips. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

An abrupt concern caught Stiles. “Is Derek okay?” he asked anxiously.

Peter looked down at Stiles, and had to fight the urge to smuggle him out of the house. This empathetic, worried, wonderful boy.

“You’d probably have to talk to him to be sure, but I think he feels relieved actually,” Peter said. “The longer she spent in prison, the longer there was a possibility she would escape. This way, the Council’s sentence can be carried out in four days and then no one will ever have to worry about Kate Argent again.”

Stiles nodded in understanding and leaned his head against Peter’s shoulder.

In the stillness, Stiles was left with only his own emotions, swirling inside him like a cyclone. He tried to identify them the way he would from an outside source. They were impossible to separate, too close and tangled up in each other. A Gordian Knot of emotions.

Only one thought came to him.

“I don’t even know her name,” Stiles said, voice hoarse. “Peter, I never knew my mom’s real name.”

The tears fell suddenly and freely. Stiles couldn’t see through them, and he clutched Peter’s shirt, desperate for an anchor.

Peter said nothing, but held him back tightly.

* * *

The next morning was Saturday. Peter had gone as soon as he heard John waking up, so it was just the two of them at breakfast.

 _Well,_ Stiles thought, _the two of us and whoever the Hales have watching over us._ He was one hundred percent sure they wouldn’t leave them unprotected, no matter what his dad said.

Neither of them said a word until Stiles was putting his bowl into the dishwasher. John cleared his throat.

“We should probably talk about last night.”

Stiles stiffened but he didn’t turn around, continuing to pull dishes from the sink and put them in the dishwasher.

“I don’t know where you’re getting the idea that I’m an alcoholic-” John started, and that was already enough for Stiles.

“Do you know how many glasses I just put in the dishwasher? Five. One was mine. One was yours from this morning. Why were the other three dirty?” he asked, turning around with his arms crossed.

“Two or three drinks do not make me an alcoholic, Stiles,” John said patiently.

“No, but six or seven a day do. Do you think I don’t see the bottles when I take out the trash? Six or seven a day most days of the week definitely makes you an alcoholic. You don’t binge as much as you did right after mom died, but you’re way past fourteen drinks a week.”

Stiles felt sick. He had known these things for a long time. The facts had lived in the back of his brain, always threatening to break through and make him actually think about his dad’s problem. Stiles could handle cholesterol, he could handle making sure his dad got exercise, but alcoholism… it was so huge. It wasn’t something he could fix for his dad.

It wasn’t until recently that he started to realize his dad was the one who needed to fix it.

John’s face had paled as Stiles talked, and then gotten red as he became angry.

“I am _not_ an alcoholic! I go to work every day-”

“-because functional alcoholism is a brand new concept for you, I’m sure” Stiles cut in, unimpressed.

“Don’t interrupt me,” John said, his voice rising. “I don’t have a problem. It would be grossly irresponsible of me as Sheriff and as a father, do you honestly think I would put you in that kind of situation?”

Stiles could feel the desperation clinging to his dad. He didn’t know if he was consciously trying to turn this around on Stiles or if it was just a psychological reflex to avoid a painful topic; either way Stiles wasn’t going to play the game.

“It’s not about what I think you would do, it’s about what I see you doing. Why were the bottles hidden, Dad?” Stiles was abruptly exhausted, and it was only 9 a.m. “I’m going to do homework.”

John was left sitting at the table, upset and confused. He didn’t even remember hiding the bottles.

Why were the bottles hidden?

_Why were the bottles hidden?_

* * *

Gerard Argent sat in his hotel room, cleaning his guns. The movements were repetitive, soothing.

He couldn’t blame Kate for getting caught. She’d run the plan successfully so many times before.

Who could have guessed there would be an empath in little old Beacon Hills?

The son of the one he’d lost all those years ago, no less.

It was no matter. He’d have the boy on a leash in no time. And his first job would be to help eliminate the Hales.

It was a pity he’d gotten attached to them.

But perhaps it was better this way; break him completely on the first job, and he’ll follow neatly on the rest.

Yes, he would break him apart and mold him into something more… useful.

* * *

Stiles stayed in his room all of Saturday, doing homework and playing video games, wanting to feel alone. When he came out for dinner his dad was on the phone with work, talking about a burglary of the local pawn shop. Stiles quietly made chicken and rice and left it in the oven for his dad before going back up to his room. 

He stood at his window for a long time, staring out into the January night. He regretted not asking Peter more questions last night. He’d just been so exhausted- he didn’t even remember falling asleep, only waking up to the empathic quiet that meant Peter was still there.

He stretched out his senses for the first time that day and poked around the yard. Leaning over, he flicked the latch and slid open his window.

“Savage Grandma!” he whisper yelled.

“Nobody here but us owls,” came the stern, hushed reply.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Come on Grandma. It’s not like you won’t hear my dad coming up the stairs.” Stiles waited to see if she’d come up. “I have classic Mario,” he tempted. There was a pause.

“The real Mario Brothers? Not Super Mario?”

“Yep.”

Another pause, and then-

“If we get caught, tell your dad I’m senile and got lost,” Grandma said as she handily climbed through the second story window, in her high waisted pleated pants and Keds. As soon as she was inside, Stiles started grilling her.

“What’s going on? Do you guys have a plan to intercept Kate yet? Do you think she has, like, hunter friends coming to pick her up? Didn’t you say she has a brother? What about-”

“Calm down Jack Crawford, take a breath.” She breathed deeply, indicating that Stiles should do the same. He gave her a flat look.

“If you want me to calm down, then give me _information_. I find that Jack Crawford comparison deeply offensive, by the way.”

“It’s a pack rule that we keep the pups out of matters like this until they’re at least sixteen,” Savage Grandma said. Stiles opened his mouth, ready to argue, but she held up her hand. “However, in this particular circumstance, that would be both unsafe and bullshit.”

She proceeded to tell him about Gerard Argent, and his son Chris who had willingly informed them of his movements.

“Gerard is a master of information gathering,” Grandma said as she tapped her foot absentmindedly. “I was pack spymaster for fifty-eight years, still technically am even though Peter will be taking over soon. Gerard always seems to have that one extra piece that no one else knows.”

She chewed on her lip, a nervous gesture that seemed out of place with her devil-may-care personality. “Stiles, if you feel anything even a little bit unusual, you have to call us immediately, damned what your father says. Obviously I can’t tell you what kind of emotions he puts off, but they can’t be anything but disgusting.”

“Right now, we have plans to take Kate Argent directly from the prison, after she’s dressed for release but before she reaches the yard.”

“You can do that?” asked Stiles, impressed.

“The Argents aren’t the only ones with money and connections, honey,” Grandma assured him. “But the point is that Gerard probably knows that. I don’t think there’s anything he can do to prevent us from getting to her first, which is what makes me think he’ll go for a hostage. And if he knows that you’re an empath, and a pack member, _and_ living away from the Alpha… Stiles, if there was ever a time to be paranoid, it’s now.”

Stiles felt a weight drop into his stomach. He hadn’t realized the situation was quite so dire. He didn’t think his dad had realized either.

“I think Gerard changes things, Grandma. I think if my dad knew about Gerard, he might change his mind.” After all, his dad wanted to keep his son safe, didn’t he? If he knew that there would be someone targeting him directly, rather than a broad danger of hunters…

“Will you come talk to him? He’s going to know I got the information from somewhere anyway, it might be better if we talk to him together.”

Savage Grandma looked uncharacteristically unsure. “I don’t know, Stiles. John seemed pretty set and determined when you left yesterday. And Talia may be my daughter, but she’s also my Alpha and technically she did make a decision...”

“Please,” he pleaded. He was terrified. Sure, his dad had a gun and police training, but this man had been hunting werewolves and other supernatural creatures for over 70 years. If he really wanted to take Stiles…

This was the very thing his mother had run from for years, burning through four names and five homes.

They needed more than one man with a pistol.

Savage Grandma looked at the naked fear in Stiles’ eyes.

“What the hell. I’ve been wanting a word with your father anyway.”

* * *

Even Stiles could smell the alcohol before they reached the bottom of the stairs.

So much for not binge drinking anymore.

They both quietly stepped into the living room to see John hunched over the coffee table, glassily looking at pictures of the pawn shop. He glanced up, doing a slow double take at the appearance of Grandma.

“What’s she- what’re you doing here?” There was only a slight drag to his words, conveying his tolerance for how much was gone from the bottle.

“I wanted the chance to talk to you about this whole nasty situation,” Savage Grandma said in her most doting, sweet, grandmotherly way. “I think my dear daughter may have forgotten to mention a few things.”

“How’d you get in here?” John asked suspiciously. He looked at Stiles. “How’d you get her in here? She didn’t use the front door.”

Savage Grandma continued as if she was possibly hard of hearing. “It’s not just a general worry of hunters that we have, it’s a specific worry of Gerard Argent, Kate’s father.”

“Did you come in through the back?” John paused. “Wait, Gerard Argent? He’s in Kate’s file. He’s even older’n you. He’s seventy-seven. You’re worried about a seventy-seven year old human?” He frowned harder. “ _Is_ he human?”

“He’s a codeless hunter,” Grandma replied sharply, “which is close enough to inhuman.”

“So he’s human. I think I can handle one geriatric,” John said dismissively.

“It would be a mistake to underestimate him,” Grandma said with an edge, dropping the sweet facade entirely. “He’s ruthless and clever, and he’s likely to have several plans to leave Beacon Hills with both his daughter and your son.”

That got John’s hair up. “ _No one_ is taking my son. Not him, and not _you_. I don’t care how you got in, you’re going to leave right now.”

He stood up, wobbling ever so slightly, and walked to the front door, opening it.

Stiles pleaded with him, “Dad, please listen-”

“I’ll get to _you_ in a minute Mieczysław,” John said, as sharply as the alcohol would allow him.

Grandma took a long look at John before drawing Stiles into a tight hug.

“Be safe,” she spoke into his hair.

Just before she stepped over the threshold, she leaned in closely to John and whispered.

“Should you outlive both your wife and son, don’t worry. It won’t be for long.”

She walked out of the door, closing it behind herself.

John was abruptly exhausted. He turned to face Stiles. “Go to bed. I’ll deal with you in the morning.”

But Stiles wasn’t about to obey- Stiles was _furious_.

“What would you do if a hunter kicked down the door right now?” he yelled. “You’re not even sober enough to chew me out! You’re more likely to shoot yourself than anyone else!”

“Go to bed,” John repeated tiredly.

“Do you even care? Do you care that I’m not safe here?”

“Stiles, I’ve already told you why you’re safer here- no one is going to come find you here. The hunters will be looking at the Hales, not you. A seventy-seven year old man probably can’t even drive himself to the prison to pick up his daughter, much less sneak around our house alarm and overpower me, even if I’ve had a few drinks.”

“A _few,”_ Stiles scoffed.

“Go to bed, Stiles,” John repeated firmly.

“I hate you.”

Even as he said it, he regretted it. It was childish and he didn’t mean it- but he was so incredibly frustrated and scared. His dad was refusing to consider anything the Hales had to say. Stiles turned on his heel and went upstairs without another word, taking care not to slam the door.

* * *

John woke up on the couch, early morning light piercing through the living room curtains.

He hadn’t made it to bed, then.

He sat up, holding in a groan so as to not exacerbate his pounding head. His palms rubbed over his eyes before he looked around him, seeing the crime scene photos next to the bottle of Jack from last night.

Whew, that was… it was pretty close to empty, wasn’t it?

Stiles’ voice crept in the back of his head: _why were the bottles hidden?_

He shied away from the thought, hanging his head and rubbing his eyes more thoroughly. There was a swallow left in the bottom, maybe he could take some hair of the dog and get rid of his cottonmouth at the same time-

What was that?

His awkwardly positioned head had given him a view of the upper branches of his neighbor’s maple; a view he wouldn’t have been able to see otherwise. He forced his pained eyes to stay open, waiting-

Another glint.

Someone was in the tree.

John was up and grabbing his gun in the next second, bursting through his front door, aiming at the upper branches, yelling out “Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department, come down from the tree immediately!” His heart pounded, the hunters, _the hunters_. There was a moment of stillness, and then a body started descending from the tree. Feet, legs, torso- leather jacket.

“Derek, what the _hell_ were you doing up there? No, don’t answer that, I already know.”

John was irate. The Hales were going to lead every goddamn hunter in the state right to their fucking door. “Get in the car, we’re going to talk to your mother right now.”

Derek looked massively uncomfortable, shifting his weight back and forth.

“I’m not supposed to leave until someone else gets here,” he said.

John clenched his teeth in frustration, making his head throb intensely.

“Kid, I know you’ve got some kind of pack thing with your mother being the Alpha, but if you don’t get in my car right now then I’m going to call my deputies to come arrest you for trespassing, and I’ll have this conversation with your mother at the station in front of your holding cell.”

Derek was pale by the end of John’s threat. Without another word he went to wait by the passenger side door.

John opened the door to snag his keys from the entry table. He paused, wondering if he should wake up Stiles to let him know where he was going.

Well, he wouldn’t be gone long. The “conversation” he planned with Talia was going to be a warning of impending legal action and nothing else.

He unlocked the car and started driving Derek home.

* * *

Stiles woke up suddenly, confused. His face felt stiff and stale from the tears that had dried on his face last night after yelling at his dad.

What had woken him up?

He listened intently, hearing nothing, and automatically reached out with his empathy to find his dad.

Stiles immediately recoiled.

_Black, slimy, wretched bile- hate, disgust, greed._

Someone else was in the house.

* * *

_“You keep your damn pack away from my house!”_

Peter heard John’s voice on his way back into the house from his morning run. He hurried forward, and three things happened in quick succession.

First, he saw Derek leaning on the counter, biting his nails.

Second, he realized that if Derek was here and John was here, then Stiles was alone.

Third, his phone chimed from where he’d left it on the kitchen table.

He pulled it over, and saw a text from Stiles.

 **_Stiles 6:24 a.m.  
_** _Someone here in house  
_ _Feels wrong  
_ _Def not dad_  

**_Stiles 6:25 a.m.  
_** _Dads not here_

**_Stiles 6:25 a.m.  
_** _Peter it feels really bad please co_

Peter felt his gorge rise as he realized the last one had been cut off.

He burst into Talia’s office, ignoring John entirely.

“Someone’s in the house with Stiles.”

Peter was out the door two seconds later, Talia on his tail. They jumped into the car, Derek just barely throwing himself in the backseat in time. Talia gave him a stern look as they peeled out of the drive.

“If I tell you to run, you run, do you understand Derek?”

Derek nodded, looking ill but determined.

A minute later John’s police cruiser showed up in his rearview mirror, lights on and siren blaring right behind them, but unable to pass due to Peter’s reckless speed. It was just as well. Peter wanted to get his claws into the intruder first.

* * *

Stiles hesitated, and it cost him everything.

He’d had one hand on his phone and one leg out the window. Almost done with his text to Peter, he had looked down and hesitated- it was so high.

His bedroom door opened, an old man standing on the other side with a gun. The old man smiled, Stiles pressed send, and the gun went off with a quiet _snick._

* * *

Peter threw his car into park and flung the door open, charging into the Stilinski’s house.

On the stairs he could already smell traces of aconite. He was completely wolfed out by the time he reached Stiles’ room, dreading what he would find.

The bedroom window was open, the cell phone he’d gotten for Stiles laying on the floor beneath it. There was a single drop of blood on the sill.

It was Stiles’.

Peter, Talia, and Derek stood motionless in the room, letting their senses take in the scene, undisturbed, until John came barreling in behind them.

“Where is he?” he shouted, clearly panicked. “Where’s Stiles?”

Peter snarled and turned around in a flash, pinning John to the wall with a clawed hand at his throat. Derek stood behind him, growling lowly.

“If he dies, it’s because of you,” he said quietly, luminescent blue eyes staring directly into John’s.

“Peter,” Talia said sharply. “Come unlock Stiles’ phone.”

Peter dropped the sheriff and went to Talia, taking just two guesses to get Stiles’ password. As he looked through it, seeing if there were any unsent messages, Talia started barking orders.

“John, put out an APB on Gerard Argent. Derek, call Grandma and see if she’s found out what kind of car he’s driving yet.” Talia herself pulled out her own phone and began calling her other siblings to start the search on foot.

John called his office with shaking hands.

God, what had he done?

* * *

The tranquilizer wore off while Stiles was in the trunk, hands tied behind him tightly with rope. His head pounded the way it had after being chloroformed by the warlock, but there was no gracing moment of confusion, no blessed moment where he was unsure of what had happened. 

He immediately panicked, taking sharp breaths and hyperventilating until he passed out again.

When he awoke a second time, he tried a counting exercise that Sarah had recommended during a therapy session. Unfortunately there weren’t many things to count in the dark trunk of a fast moving car. It did however keep him calm enough to consider his options.

He felt around with his foot, searching for the tail light. He wasn’t wearing shoes, still in his pajamas, so his bare feet made it a little easier to find and then rip out the wires by gripping them with his toes.

He kicked out, heel connecting with the light. He kicked again, and again, and again, and- the light popped out, probably crashing and scattering on the road as they drove. He wiggled around, looking out from the hole to see a generic highway. A moment later, Stiles heard the turn signal come on, and he waited, hoping he could catch the attention of a passing car if Argent pulled over to pop the trunk. 

But the car didn’t stop. It took an exit, and then turned onto a gravel road and continued driving. It continued even further, and soon it felt as if there wasn’t even gravel on the road. The air coming through the tail light got colder, and Stiles started seeing patches of snow on the ground. 

By the time the car stopped, Stiles had given up all hope of any passing cars.

The trunk opened. 

“The rental company is going to make me pay for that, you know,” the old man said with a frown. 

“Fuck you,” spat Stiles.

Gerard tsk’ed. 

“First thing we’ll have to do is break you of that foul mouth.”

* * *

Peter waited to be buzzed through to the prison visiting room. As soon as he entered, Kate Argent looked up, surprise clear on her face before it was replaced with a disgusting grin.  

“Hello,” she purred. “Come to get a taste of what your nephew found so exciting? I’m only here for two more days; you’ve certainly left it ‘til the last minute.”

Peter continued to stand across from her, watching the camera in the corner. The red light above it went off. He looked at Kate.

“We’re going to kill you. Tell us where your father’s closest safe house is and we won’t draw it out for as long as you deserve.”

Her smirk widened and she leaned forward. “If daddy’s already here, it’s too late for you. Enjoy your last hours.”

Peter’s face remained impassive.

“You’re sure you don’t want to tell us now?”

“Go lick your own ass, you filthy mutt,” she responded, grin growing wilder and more unsettling.

Peter stared at her in silence for another moment, considering.

“Congratulations, Kate,” he finally said. “The prison has decided to release you early. For your own safety, of course. There are plenty of people who don’t look kindly on child rapists. Luckily I’m here to escort you.

For the first time, a hint of fear crept into Kate’s eyes.

* * *

For a 77 year old man, Gerard was terrifyingly strong. No, scratch that, Gerard was terrifyingly strong for anyone at any age.

Stiles struggled as hard as he could when Gerard hauled him out of the trunk and into the bare basement of the small cabin, but it made no difference. Stiles had just enough time to appreciate the cliche of a kidnapper having a torture cabin in the woods, when Gerard slapped the handcuffs on and slipped the ropes off.

As soon as the handcuffs touched his skin, Stiles was assaulted by a barrage of panicked memories. The feelings overwhelmed him, dozens of memories competing for his attention. He immediately bent over and vomited on the floor, heaving and struggling to breathe.

Gerard stood out of range, looking mildly intrigued.

“What do you feel?” he asked.

Stiles couldn’t have responded even if he wanted to, suffocating in the memories of everyone who had worn these handcuffs before him. He could hear screams and sobs, saw dead and tortured loved ones he’d never met laying next to him. Their despair and anguish filled up his entire being.

Gerard continued to watch with passive interest  as Stiles fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Gerard tsk’ed again.

“Thirteen years old and still crying? That’s another thing we’ll have to break out of you.”

With that, he flicked off the lights in the windowless basement and left the room, locking the door behind him.

Stiles curled up on the ground, away from the vomit, and drowned in the memories of the others before him.

* * *

“There’s been no ransom note, no contact of any kind, what does he want??” John asked Joseph as he feverishly paced in Talia’s office.

“We already told you, idiot,” Savage Grandma snapped as she walked in, resheathing her claws. “He wants his daughter to not face any consequences for her actions and he wants your son to be his puppet.” She looked at him disdainfully. “My contact came through. He’s driving a silver 2009 Honda Accord, plate number 7SFI289.”

John fumbled out his phone, his reaction times still suffering from his hangover. He put in the call to the station while Joseph talked with his mother in law.

“Is Peter still with Kate?” Grandma asked in a low voice.

Joseph nodded. “He and Talia have only been down there for fifteen minutes or so. If they can get anything out of her at all, I expect it’ll be a few hours-”

“Argent’s bolt hole is up highway 70, past Cresta,” Peter said, face made of stone as he and Talia entered her office, wiping blood off their hands.

Joseph looked shocked, while Savage Grandma critically looked them up and down.

“What did you threaten her with?” she asked, skeptical after so short an interrogation time.

“We didn’t threaten anything,” Peter said.

“I bit her,” Talia said nonchalantly.

Grandma actually growled at that. “You _what?_ The bite is a _gift_ -”

“Calm down,” Peter said sharply. “Right after Talia bit her, she was begging for us to kill her rather than have to live as a werewolf. She gave us the information, Talia ripped out her throat. The only _gift_ here is her eradication.”

“As long as Gerard has Stiles, we don’t have the luxury of ignoring tools,” Talia said, ending that line of thought immediately.

Upset at something she held sacred being used so roughly, Grandma took a deep breath. They were right. _One step closer to Stiles,_ she thought.

“Who is staying behind?” she asked.

Joseph said, “I’ll stay with Darla and Cora-”

“The _hell_ you will!” came a shout through the air vent. There was a clunking noise of a vent cover being replaced somewhere, and then Cora stomped into the office from the laundry room.

“I’m coming too!” she yelled indignantly.

“No. You’re thirteen-” Talia started to reply but Peter held up a hand to cut her off, addressing Cora directly.

“If you got hurt during the fight to rescue Stiles, what do you think that would do to him?”

A crease appeared in her forehead. “I- he would- I won’t get hurt!”

“Cora, you haven’t pinned me once during any of our sparring. Can you really promise that?” Peter reasoned.

Cora’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “You have to bring him back, Peter. He can’t- he has to come back.”

Peter nodded sharply.

“He will.”

* * *

Stiles was numb. Physically and mentally. The cold floor had soaked through his thin pajamas until he couldn’t feel it anymore, skin eventually matching the temperature of the freezing concrete.  

The memories of all the dead who had worn the handcuffs before him played like a film reel in his mind.

_Poisoned._

_Beaten._

_Electrocuted._

_Starved._

A sudden jolt raced through Stiles, shattering his numbness.

He recognized the mental timbre from one of his memories.

_Claudia. If she escaped this time, then she would call herself Claudia. She would find herself a small town, one just like a thousand others in America. She would fold in, and fold in, and fold in, until nothing remained of her former self. No empaths, no dryads, no witches- the supernatural would become a story and nothing more._

_She looked at the unconscious body of her werewolf roommate hanging on the electrified bed frame across from her._

_She’d done that._

_No one was safe when they knew her._

_Claudia. Claudia would be a girl who kept others safe. Claudia would be someone who didn’t even know the word supernatural._

_She just had to get out of here first so that she could become her._

_Gritting her teeth, she maneuvered her right hand to grip her left, and dislocated her thumb. She pulled off the handcuff, and darted over to the car battery, disconnecting it-_

The memory passed and moved on to the torture of a witch, but Stiles managed to push it to the back of his mind, reeling from the memory of his mother.

He tried to focus on the most important part of the memory- his mom had escaped. In a different place, but from the same handcuffs. He replicated the grip his mother had had, and yanked on his thumb.

He screamed. He couldn’t help it, but cut it off as soon as he was able. He rapidly pulled his hand out, still with a tight scrape through the cuff. Fumbling and trying not to use the injured thumb, he tore off a length of his shirt and stuffed it between the cuff and his skin on the other wrist. For the first time since he’d been put in here, his mind quieted.

He flicked on the lights. The door had a simple tumbler lock. If only he had something to pick it with-

_Rage, loathing, a screaming howl of contempt-_

The click of a key turning came from the other side of the door, and Stiles stumbled back. He looked for something he could use to defend himself, but the room was bare- the door swung open, and there stood Gerard, handgun pointed directly at Stiles.

“Managed to get yourself out of the cuffs, huh? Maybe you’re not as useless as I thought.” He gestured with his gun. “Face and hands up against the wall. We’re going to go talk to your little pack.”

Stiles slowly turned, putting his hands up. As soon as Gerard grabbed him, he tried to bring his elbow back, but it was no use. Gerard was working with over 70 years experience in holding captives. He grabbed Stiles, purposely wrenching his dislocated thumb, and marched him up the stairs from the basement, and out the front door.

* * *

The Hales crept up to the cabin, encountering the expected barrier of mountain ash. Bill darted forward to break it before falling back to where Derek waited, getting the emergency medical supplies ready.

They blended in seamlessly with the woods around them, each one silent and nearly invisible. According to their earlier plan, Talia motioned for Cindy and Grandma to go approach from the back, while Lila and Phil took the sides and she and Peter took the direct path in. 

A hundred feet out from the cabin, the front door opened. Talia and Peter stopped, indicating the others should do the same.

“Don’t be shy,” Gerard called, appearing with a gun to Stiles’ head. “Let’s have a chat.”

Peter and Talia looked at each other, and stepped out from the trees.

“You’ve kidnapped a member of our pack, Gerard,” Talia called. “And the sheriff’s son to boot. It’s not like you to make such big mistakes.”

“I just wanted a little… insurance, for my daughter’s safe release from prison,” he said easily.

“Your daughter’s safety was forfeit the moment she chose to rape my son,” Talia said, cold anger etched into every line of her face. “The Hunter’s Council already passed her sentence, Gerard.”

“Yes, but it’s up to you how that sentence is carried out, isn’t it? This,” he nudged the gun up against Stiles’ temple and Peter snarled. “Is just encouragement for you to be _forgiving_ in your executio-”

Gerard’s head exploded.

At least, that’s what it looked like from the corner of Stiles’ eye. A brief moment of shock slammed into him, and then there was nothing but emotionless void from the body laying on the ground.

50 yards away, John breathed out a shaky breath, and began to disassemble his rifle.

All of the Hales rushed in towards Stiles. Peter reached him first and gathered him up, Stiles falling gratefully into the silence and care he provided.

Each of the Hales took a moment to touch him and physically assure themselves that he was there, alive, and safe again, before Peter and Lila carried him back towards Derek and Bill.

The rest of them stayed behind to take care of the evidence.

* * *

A doctor from a county over who knew the Hales met them at the house. Peter sat with Stiles as the doctor reset his thumb and gave him a splint and some pain medication. After the doc was done checking him over, he recommended rest, fluids, and trauma counseling. Stiles was only too willing to do all three.

Just as the doctor was leaving, Melissa and Scott showed up. Melissa fussed over the splint and seconded the doctor’s opinion while Scott looked on, white as a sheet. He looked like he had a million questions, and Stiles just _couldn’t_ deal with it.

He tugged on Peter and they quietly went to his room next to the library where he immediately passed out.

Three hours later, he woke up to his father sitting next to his bed. Stiles could hardly feel anything from him, so Peter must have been just outside the door.

“Hey kiddo,” John said, eyes red and voice gravelly.

“I love you,” Stiles replied sleepily, but urgently. “I didn’t mean it, I love you.”

“I know son, I know.” John gave a little sniff and wiped his eyes. “How are you feeling? Do you need more pain meds?”

Stiles shook his head. John took a deep breath.

“You were right about Gerard. The Hales were right. I should have listened,” he said, looking straight at his son. “You were also right about my… my drinking.” John swallowed. “I- my hands were shaking before when we left to get you. I had to have a drink to be steady enough to take the shot.”

John leaned back and scrubbed his hands down his face. “I can’t- what if I hadn’t been able to do it? God, Stiles. _God._ ”

Stiles watched him silently.

John’s hands dropped down to his lap.

“I’m going to stop. I’m going to go to rehab. Today. Melissa has an inpatient clinic she recommends... and then SMART Recovery, after, or a group like it.” He swallowed again. “I talked with the Hales. They said they’d love to have you stay with them while I’m in rehab… and after, if you’d like to stay with them while I’m still… recovering, they’d love that too.”

Stiles knew his father. He could make a very educated guess at what he was feeling right now, but- and this was a huge “but”- Stiles couldn’t actually feel it.

Without feeling what his father was feeling, Stiles was left with only his own feelings to make his decision.

It wasn’t as hard as he wanted it to be.

“I’ll stay with the Hales until… until.” He couldn’t say until when. Until John earned some trust back, he supposed.

John nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

Stiles flung himself forward into his dad’s arms.

They clung tightly to each other for a few minutes, and then a knock came at the door. Peter stepped in.

“John, if you’re going to make it to the clinic in time, you need to go pack,” he said quietly. “Joseph will drive you.”

Eyes bloodshot, John scrubbed the tears from his cheeks.

“I’ll see you as often as you want to come visit me, alright?” he told Stiles. “And I’ll be back in a month. We’ll have burgers to celebrate.”

“Turkey burgers,” Stiles said, voice choked. John nodded with a wobbly smile.

“Turkey burgers."

* * *

They moved a camp bed into Stiles’ room for the week. Peter didn’t leave his side until Stiles felt ready to handle his empathy again.

His nights came to have a routine: fall asleep, wake up from a nightmare, take a shower in an attempt to scrub the memories away, sit awake on his bed.

He and Peter had a lot of conversations that week.

“I felt so many things,” he whispered into the dark one night as they both sat up on Stiles’ bed, next to each other. “He used those handcuffs on dozens of people during the worst moments of their lives."

Peter sat silently, letting him talk.

“He took my mom once.” Stiles heard Peter suck in a startled little breath. “I felt her memory…”

Peter reached out his hand, and Stiles took it.

“She just wanted to protect people,” he whispered. “She was so worried… she was determined to live outside the supernatural if she escaped… it was never really about her own safety.”

Peter pulled Stiles into his arms, encircling him. He smelled fresh tears.

“She just didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Stiles didn’t know the name his mom had been born with. He didn’t know what her life had been like during those years on the run, and he didn’t know exactly what she had and hadn’t told his dad about the supernatural.

But he was sure that this piece of her, this one small piece of who she was- he understood it better than anyone else in the world. Even better than his dad.

Maybe especially better than his dad.

Gerard had stolen him, hurt him, and caused an enormous amount of trauma that Stiles would be dealing with for the rest of his life-

But a silent part of Stiles thought he would have willingly gone through a lot more to gain this insight into his mother.

He hugged Peter back more tightly, and let the tears fall.

* * *

Life continued. It always does, whether you notice it or not.

Whether you’re there to notice it or not.

John completed his 28 days and came home sober.

Stiles stayed with the Hales.

As John attended his support group and began one-on-one therapy, he slowly started to fully understand why. Several halting and sincere conversations happened over the course of six months, resulting in an understanding that Stiles was always welcome back, and John was always welcome at the Hales, but for now… Stiles would stay where he was.

Stiles, Cora, and Scott finished middle school and had a hokey “graduation” ceremony where they made all the eighth graders sing a song about wings and moving on. The entire Hale family showed up with signs for the three of them; Peter brought a huge blown up baby picture of Cora that said “Baby You’ve Come So Far”. He was still cackling even as she punched him after the ceremony.

Stiles spent the summer doing self defense training with the Hales. Cora in particular seemed determined that he learn how to throw a punch. Conversely, Peter started spending more time in the library and digging up old books, looking for anything on empaths that he could give to Stiles.

All in all, life simply continued. A little more cautious, a little more age for his years- but also a little brighter.

A little stronger.

**Author's Note:**

> Amy Winehouse voice: "They tried to make me go to rehab, and I said 'I've recently had the life altering epiphany and sudden realization that I am a hairs-width away from losing the only person in my life who truly matters to me, so yes, I'll go immediately.'"
> 
> But y i k e s, right?? There's a lot happening here. But like, it needed to happen. 
> 
> Things'll get more chill for a while I think. The next fic has five different versions of the "Georgie Porgie" nursery rhyme, so that's the direction I'm headed lmao. 
> 
> btw, in case you wondered, Bill is in fact human. Talia was born a were, Bill was born human, Lila was born human and chose to take the bite as an adult, Phil was born a were, and obvs 15 years later Peter was also born a were. Joseph also took the bite, after he and Talia were married but before Laura was born. Cindy's a born were, Darla's human. Everyone thinks it's super weird that all of Talia's kids were born werewolves. 
> 
> These are the kinds of things just hanging out in the back of my brain like "hey you should probably try to fit this into a fic as background" and then my sinful little typing fingers are all "Shh, Savage Grandma needs to directly threaten the sheriff with murder, stop talking."


End file.
